The Last Light
by CJJenkins
Summary: A Last Witch Hunter AU. A plague wipes out over half of Norway's population in the mid -1300's. Cursed to live and watch her friends and family die, Maka is hailed as The Last Witch Hunter. When she can't figure out which parts of her are someone else, who will lead her back to humanity? Resbang 2019
1. Chapter 1

_**Hey all! This is my contribution to Resbang, my first one ever! Thank you so much to those who have supported me through this and especially Nsart (link to their amazing art in my bio!) for their continuous and genuine help and love for my fic, I couldn't have done it without you! I didn't think I'd be honored with such a talented and kind artist but you picked me and I am forever grateful. Also a BIG thank you to my beta, Zxanthe! Thank you for perfecting this monstrosity and laughing at my Black Star jokes. Thanks to all of you for reading this too!**_

_**Enjoy!**_

_**CHAPTER 1**_

"_'Don't touch me,' I scream, 'I've got unfinished business.'"_

She's a stone's throw behind the group of men who are treading through ice and snow to the tree of plague on the horizon, bundled in her thickest furs and shaking from the ever-winter. It's been almost a week since the group departed from their hometown. Her father is one leader of the group, and she's been surviving off the sad remains of a sickly rabbit she found a few days back. Numb feet and the sight of her father's back are the only things that are driving her closer to this damning, evil tree of pestilence with her mother's voice in the back of her mind saying '_you're so much stronger than this, be brave my love._'

_Be Brave,_ she thinks as she shakes her father's sleeping body. It's now morning, and time to charge Baba Yaga, tree of death. The rest of the group had stirred and seen her, not asking her for an explanation. When he's finally awake, his eyes fill with pure horror and sadness.

"Maka, no," he pleads

"I have to, for Mama. Please let me." Her face is stern. He does not reply but she knows he's allowing it, so she thanks him in spirit, and she's sure he feels it.

They march towards the tree, a group of no more than two dozen men with far more weapons than they need and a small woman who has lived through twenty-three winters. They seek the queen of the Witches and rot because it's their last option; word from the eastern plains and sea say that the plague is claiming lives with no mercy. They are the last line of defense, desperately attempting to summon an attack of brute force and fire to end the pestilence that keeps killing no matter what it's offered. Gods shine on them as they try to stop something that was meant to eradicate all of them. Gods shine on all the damned who could not overcome the rot and death. Gods shine on her mother who was claimed by such a sickness.

They climb through corridors and up vine walls with torches and swords in hand, ready to fight, to die. They rest in a wide-open space somewhere near the heart of the tree. It is silent save for a loud and steady pounding on the north wall. There's plants, _life_, sprouting from cracks in the dried mud and tree roots, untouched by the outside devastation. Maka's eyes drift through the room. There are four crests that she figures herald tunnels deeper into the tree. Her ears strain for anything that doesn't sound innately human. Maybe she can make it out alive. Maybe her people will defeat their impending doom and demolish whatever fate has in store for them. Maybe she can be happy after this. Her father looks at her with prideful and wounded eyes and for the first time since her mother has died, she smiles at him.

He could die a happy man.

They closed in on the group in the blink of an eye. Plagued, crazed bodies trickle through rooted walls and down corridors, tripping on vines and each other.

"Ready your swords, men!" A throaty cry for battle rings loud in her ears as she pulls her mother's weapon from her back and slams it into the chest of a corpse, sending it flying.

It's the damnedest thing, swinging it. The scythe is light, meant for harvesting, but it's sharp and sturdy because her mother made it so.

The half-dead swarm her comrades, sinking their teeth into any flesh they see, tearing away whole bits and spewing blood the color of charcoal in open wounds. They're festering, she realizes as she plants her scythe in one of their stomachs, their bodies long dead and their minds taken by the Witch.

Those who are not lucky enough to be ripped to shreds are pulled and whipped by dark tendrils from the floor until there is only a handful of their group left. Maka smells the Witch before she sees her; a wave of rot and fear wafting into the room from the north wall. The Witch is all spiny branches and wet ooze spilling out of caverns in her skin. A Witch as old as time, Pestilence, who's the embodiment of death and decay. None will stop Maka's vengeance, her quest to save mankind.

The Witch grins as Maka lets out a blood-curdling battle cry and hurtles towards her.

"Iron and Fire," the girl screams as her feet slam into the knotted roots, "give me your strength!"

Maka heaves a now-flaming, molten-iron dripping scythe towards the Witch, grinning. The Queen of Plague raises her hands, making a wall of thick vines and roots in hopes of blocking the smaller woman's attack. It doesn't.

The blade rips through greenery and old bone and is cocked back again to deliver the final blow, but before it can, the world goes sideways. Her ankles are whipped across the room, her body following, and she is heaved down a shaft, thrown howling into fetid darkness.

She doesn't know how long it takes for her to regain her bearings, but when she does, she hears the quiet groanings of her men in the higher cabin of the tree. At first, she thinks that the war is lost and that she failed her mother and father. A faint whisper builds between her ears and she hears '_be brave, Maka'_. Her feet find their way under her once more.

She looks for her mother because her voice was so clear. Maka finds an apparition hiding in vines, cowering.

"Maka, you need to leave, we're not safe here," her not-mother says.

The girl can't stop herself; she kneels down to hug something that looks, but doesn't talk like, her late mother. It's not warm and she can feel placeholder magic at work. Weeds, sticks and bird bones that resemble thick furs and hair poke at her forearms.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you, Mama." she whispers as she allows a few tears to slip past her lids. "I love you. I'll save them, I'll save everyone. Rest easy."

With that, the magic dissipates, only dust and rot in her arms now. For the second time in Maka's life, she watches her mother quietly slip between her fingers without a fight. She knew it couldn't have been her mother, the one who taught her the magic that she uses so freely now. A renegade Witch living in a village that didn't exile her, who taught her daughter the ways of the elements and ley lines. Even though she knew that it was magic fooling her to keep her distracted, the look in her not-mother's eyes was so real and so jarring. Nothing could've made that woman fearful; she was a force of nature. That was her magic. A fire Witch with a plan. Maka sobs quietly in the corridor until she hears more screams and is snapped back into reality.

It takes every ounce of energy she has left to climb the ivy laden hedges back to the large cavern where the Witch is still eviscerating and tearing apart her comrades. Plague takes the shape of a busty woman with tar-like hair. Beady ichor eyes stare at Maka over the corpses of her family and friends, the bodies writhing as the Witch's control seeps into their bloodstreams. Maka's gaze locks onto her father, lifeless on the ground with vines piercing his hands and ankles. Her heart screams once more.

"Back again, runt?" The Witch bares her teeth at the ash-blonde girl.

Without responding, or giving this _thing_ any amount of satisfaction, Maka sprints. No longer exhausted or aching, she is filled with fear and anger and courage. She will not stop until her scythe is planted between the decaying woman's eyes. She doesn't need to live after this. She doesn't even want to. Every part of her wants to lie down next to her father after she kills this monster and slip into her unending sleep. With the last of her mother's magic that holds her flaming weapon together, she forces her shoulder into what she thinks is a lobe of lung, right under the worm-infested ribcage of the Witch. Maka feels an oily deluge over her neck and chest and hears the creature gasp for air but soon realizes it thinks this is _funny._ A tiny woman trying to kill an eternal creature; a bird trying to kill a god.

"I think that's enough _fun_."

Sticky fingers lace themselves in Maka's hair and rip downward; nails cut thick ridges into her scalp. First, it feels like fire, then like ice. She feels plague drip into her eyes and is too afraid to close them. She can't give up now. Maka screams; she screams for her mom, buried in their small village three days away, for her dad who's bleeding out on the ground and watching his daughter fail, for the fate of herself and the whole world.

"You _will_ die!" is the only phrase that can escape her as Maka tries to whip the scythe around and plunge it into the creature's neck. But, oh, the plague made her hands slick, and _oh_, this is truly the end. The Witch flips her around and grabs the scythe with what looks like spider legs, all spindly and grotesque. Maka is cut from sternum to pelvis; her intestines slip out of her in a bloom of blood and pain threatens to drown her but she forces herself to ignore the threat of death, by sheer will she ignores every nerve ending screaming for her to stop and tries to focus on killing the woman in front of her.

"I think you will be the one dying tonight."

"That was already the plan," Maka seethes with blood between her teeth, not bothering to try to put herself back together. "I just have to take you with me."

In a flash of silver, the small girl grips the memory of her mother and slams it into the heart of the Witch, their blood seeping together, rot and metal.

Maka whispers, "Iron and Fire." Both of them are burned alive by her mother's magic.

* * *

Maka blinks blearily. She thinks she actually did it. She sees her parents holding hands by the small lake right outside their village. Death feels fine, especially if it gives her the opportunity to spend it with the people she loves most. They look over their shoulders at her and make room for her small form in between the two of them. Her mother beams.

"You did such a good job, sweetie! I'm so proud of you." Maka feels herself blush.

"You really love disobeying me, don't you?" says her father fondly. He pats her head.

Though she knows that this easily could be her mind filling in the blanks where her parents used to be, she's overwhelmed with happiness. She can rest knowing that the world is safe, if only for a brief moment, because of her sacrifice. Her mother's calloused fingers find her head and gently pleat her hair into twin tails. Maka smiles and gazes up into the older woman's face.

Something's wrong. Her mother looks disgusted, terrified. There's a vile ringing in her head and when Maka looks at her mother's hands, she sees blood and _fire._

A haunting chorus of her parents' voices scream _Run._

Someone is saying sorry over and over and sobs are keeping them from being understood, but they're so so sorry and they never wanted any of this. Maka's mind returns to her and she knows she's the one apologizing, as fire crawls up her belly and spreads across the ground of Baba Yaga. She didn't die.

"What did you do?" she chokes out, tears evaporating because of the heat that's blistering her skin.

"I curse you with life, you'll never know the peace of death," the Witch howls as her lips peel back from her teeth. "You'll walk the earth alone, runt."

They both scream, pinned to each other with branches and vines, as the fire licks at their flesh until there's nothing left. Maka has never felt such pain, never been so blatantly afraid of what would happen next. But after a few beats in the inferno, all goes black. She feels peace.

She doesn't see her parents at the edge of the lake again, just the pitch black and quiet. And though it's sad, she knows that they can both rest and not worry about the world dying because they didn't try hard enough.

She feels regret and remorse (she's sorry, she's so so sorry) and anger, but currently, in this darkened state where pain is nothing but a distant memory, she feels at ease.

She wakes with her father's voice in her ear, screaming her name, and all the pain seeps back into her body. Her eyelids are glued shut, her nerve endings exposed, she can feel her muscle strands knitting themselves back together at a snail's pace. She feels her intestines squirm back into place. There's a small moment when she realizes that the Queen of the Witches held true to her promise.

As her body pulls itself back together in agony, her father sobs over her and thanks every god in the book that she can still breathe and move. When Maka's voice is back, she wants to say _I don't want to be brave anymore_. But instead, she says,

"I love you, Papa."


	2. Chapter 2

_**CHAPTER 2**_

"_Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, Rage against the dying of the light."_

The next millennia of Maka's life is spent thwarting evil, she does this by attempting to get humans and magical creatures, or cryptids, to live in harmony. There are a lot of scrapped ideas. She meets several Witches, warlocks and cryptids that help along the way; people and creatures that have great ideas but for all their promise turn out to be impossible to execute, even for an immortal Witch-human hybrid.

She makes a lot of friends, which is strange for her. After the battle of Baba Yaga, Maka closed herself off from both human and cryptid-kind. Trusting doesn't come with ease anymore; nor does peace. Despite this, Maka becomes increasingly close to a Siren that she met on the outskirts of Japan who was very skilled at her craft, until she realized that hypnotizing and killing men and women was wrong. The Siren's name is Tsubaki, a friend that she would keep for the rest of her life because they both are destined to live longer than they want.

There is an eclectic death eater who is even older than Maka. His true name is unpronounceable so he told her to call him Kid. He loves his job, which consists of watching over human interaction and profiting off of death. He explained that he weighs the souls of the dead and that the heavier and more evil they are, the more succulent they taste.

Maka asks Kid for any assistance he can give, and in turn he brings in someone he thinks is very wise. Kid's father asked to be called Death. No one was sure if this was because he didn't like his given name or just _didn't have one_. It became increasingly uncomfortable when he would talk, his high pitched and jovial voice a jarring contrast to the menacing skull mask that hid his face. He was a kind man but everyone was convinced that he might have actually been the god of death.

Maka and a group of renegade magical beings created the Defense and Wardenship against Mavens of the Arcane (DWMA for short), a group of creatures that have a serious martyr complex and want to save the world.

One day, Tsubaki turns to her and asks with a voice made of satin, "Why are you putting yourself through all of this, don't you deserve a break?"

"I think," Maka started, "I want to make sure no one has to go through something like this ever again, at least not against their will."

Her friend smiles sadly and nods, understanding that sometimes you can only make yourself feel better by hurting.

Soon after the instatement of a council that oversaw the intricacies of magical law and order, there was a general agreement that there needed to be a record keeper that could follow Maka through her lifetime. So the Arbiters were created- a high-ranking and deeply vetted group of men and women who could not use magic and would serve as both a friend and a documenter of Maka's life and missions. Since the Battle of Baba Yaga, the council realized that magic is a volatile substance and, more often than not, will corrupt those who use it for personal gain. Arbiters are fresh, new eyes that change every hundred years or so.

Her first arbiter was a bit of an oddball, with skinny arms and legs, neurotic and anxious, constantly asking her if he was doing it right. _How was she supposed to know? He was the one trained for this, she is just along for the ride_. His name was Ox Ford and their partnership was short-lived, but still very beneficial to both of them. She got someone to talk to and he got over his insane fear of powerful women.

"Ma'am," he would stammer out, "Are you ready for last mission's debriefing?"

Maka would stare at him, trying in vain to make him meet her gaze. One day she finally asked him why he never would.

He didn't answer, of course, but he also didn't look at her, not until the day he retired with his old bones and paper skin. She had watched him grow and wither in what seemed to be the blink of an eye.

As he left the church that hosted the DWMA headquarters in its belly for the last time, he looked straight into her eyes and said, "You're strong and caring. You're wise and reckless. You're combinations of things that should turn absolutely terrible but only turn out good. I know you won't leave them defenseless, but, please, take care of yourself too."

She attended Ox's funeral a few years later. He had passed peacefully in his sleep. She can't remember the faces she saw that day, but she does remember the smell in the air. Pine needles and damp dirt, gardenias on the wind. She silently thanked him from the back row of the funeral as they lit the pyre and sent him to his eternal rest. Her tears flowed for three days. Even after decades of new Arbiters and missions, whenever she smells pine needles and fresh ink on paper, her heart sinks.

There are deaths she struggles with, but as time goes on it hurts less and less. Maka feels parts of herself break off to save her from the pain or sadness that debilitate her. She watches friends, lovers, political figures, and enemies slip into the hands of death and she lets them go. She realizes sometime in the early 1860s that she is more powerless than anything else and that she's only there to delay the inevitable. The only thing that she can do is feel the helplessness inherent inability to change. She cannot alter how humans and cryptids see each other regardless of how much effort she puts in; she cannot alter herself to accept this.

In the fall of 1884, Maka leaves the DWMA under the pretense of a mission and disappears into her despair. She thinks of her mother slipping away and wishes to any god that is listening that she can do the same.

_1907:_

Somewhere in the thick, soundless wilds of Iceland, a wolf finds a cabin that smells like something ancient and agonized. Before the wolf can react, a double barrel shotgun is flush with his skull and a scrawny girl warns, "There is nothing here for you, Changeling."

The girl smells like dragon fire and soul rot. Her eyes glow with something broken in the pale moonlight and her body says she's terrified but her face is begging for a battle. The wolf's eyes track a way out, desperate to get away from the rabid child-god in front of it. It can hear the girl's heart rate drop and accelerate on a dime, see her pupils dilate and her arms stiffen and aim for something behind him before he can even register that they are not alone any longer.

The gunshot deafens the both of them. The trees ring with as a strange, wiry form sprints away, carving twists and turns into the dry grass and dead leaves. Something slices at the wolf's throat before he can evade, and the girl two paces behind him screams. It happens so fast: the creature latches onto her and tears away flesh in great, bloody gouts, and then her scythe drives into the creature's core. The wolf watches her walk back towards him without wavering, wounds stitching themselves together, and feels a distant, heady sort of relief before slipping into some place warm and damp where he can rest.

He opens his eyes and his human form _hurts_. Every iota screams in resistance. His neck is all carnage and bandages. He smells so much blood that it makes him sick.

"You're lucky to be alive," a hoarse voice says from the shadows of the room.

He tries to talk but his question falls into the cliffside of his throat, garbled and painful. He doesn't know where he is, but it doesn't feel safe. He feels his fear try to rip through his flesh and bare its teeth. The broken child-god comes into view.

"You risked your life to help me with the wendigo, I appreciate it." She gives a half-hearted smile. "I'm Maka. You're safe. I have a healer tending to your wounds, I brought you back to the DWMA. When you feel well enough we can talk. Rest now."

He does so, because even though this tiny woman had a gun pressed between his eyes the last time he saw her, her mere presence puts his soul at ease and he feels as if he can trust her with this, can trust her to not let him down.

Weeks after the night in the woods, when the wolfman's skin starts to itch with the upcoming full moon, his voice returns to him in spurts and he talks when he can to Maka. Who turns out not to be a child or a god and is instead just a human who was cursed with life. She apologizes for the rude introduction and explains that she had been hunting the wendigo and thought he was an associate. Everyone in the complex treats her like the messiah and it pisses him off. People ask her in droves if she's back for good, if she brought him there because he had done something horrible. She barely gives them answers. When his voice fully returns to him, he's cocky and abrasive.

"What's the big deal about you anyway?"

"Excuse me?" She glares at him.

He returns her gaze without flinching. "Everyone wants to lick your boots and you act like they killed your dog or something."

"That's none of your business, dog boy."

He scoffs. "Call me Black Star, you pleeb."

Maka laughs harder than she thinks she has in decades. It's refreshing to have someone not treat her like she'll save the world and change the course of the future with her eyes closed. She thinks this wolf-man is someone who was meant to come into her life, even though she has never been one to believe in destiny. If she thought less of conscious thought and actions, fate would be something she followed blindly.

"Right, so, Black Star," she starts, tapering off her laugh. "Why were you on my property?"

"I was exploring the woods, my guy, then you came out acting all tough trying to posture on me." As he talks, his hand supports his throat where the wendigo had taken a bite out of it. "Not cool, by the way."

Both of them make quick work of becoming friends with incessant banter. Maka appreciates how _normal _Black Star makes her feel.

_2017:_

One of the last nights Marie has in the DWMA, at Maka's side, she sits with her in the penthouse apartment she's called home for a little more than 100 years. It's cute, if not a little bland, like she hasn't moved in quite yet.

"I think," Marie watches Maka pour a finger of scotch for the two of them, "for all the time you've been alive, you've forgotten what it means to be human. This world, it's meant to be experienced with someone. Why don't you try to meet new people, ones you trust and can live beside?"

"I trust you." Maka smiles.

"Maybe someone a little more your type," Marie laughs.

"I'm just not sure it's worth my time, or anyone else's. I know I have to watch my loved ones die but-" she pauses. "I don't want to willingly add to my pain."

"Being human is painful," Marie starts, " and exciting, wonderful, and most importantly worthwhile. Don't let your fear keep you from _living_."

They spend the rest of the night reminiscing in their time together. It's been 25 short years, a blink of an eye to Maka. Marie somehow made Maka feel safe and appreciated, strong in the way that counted. Their friendship was one for the books. Marie is 45 now and looking to settle down but promises to stay in contact. It's all bittersweet, but Maka sends her off with a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

In August, Maka meets the new arbiter. Their name is Crona, a shapeless spindly creature that Maka thinks is familiar but doesn't know why. They're very kind and respectful, if a bit docile. Marie swears Crona in on the very first Tome created for Maka, the one in Ox's handwriting that smells like dust. Everyone at the order is sad to see Marie go, but she put in her work and then some. She deserves a kind and gentle retirement from ghost stories and curses. She deserves the love she's fought so hard to protect.

"You did well, kid," Maka says as she hugs the taller woman. Marie always acted as an older sister at all times, even when she was visibly younger than Maka. There are parts of Maka that love Marie like she loved Ox, in the way that is about learning (about herself, about humans, about time and how it passes in different ways when she lets herself feel human again).

Marie smiles brightly and sings when she's anxious and loves Maka without any reservations. Marie is a dear friend and Maka knows she'll do anything to protect her.

Crona acts like Ox did when she first met him, and that's endearing to her in some ways. They're off-kilter and off-putting, sometimes acting like a cornered animal, but are calm and collected when Maka needs it most.

Crona loves their job, diligently cataloging as many conversations and mutterings as Maka will allow them. Maka has spent so many years letting someone else remember her life for her that she's taken everything beautiful and human for granted. She doesn't care to burn sunsets into her memory or take notice of the smells of people who will definitely die before her. She's lost so much of her humanity that she's not sure what exactly she is anymore. She's not sure what she's fighting for.


	3. Chapter 3

_**CHAPTER 3**_

"_There's a man who hides from all that binds in a mess of fading lines, and there's a tangled thread inside his head with nothing on either end."_

"Patty, will you make one of those Maradian Sunrises with the extra Psilocybin and other shit you put in it? Table 5 wants one after the last time they were here," a white-haired warlock calls over his shoulder as he cleans up a mess on the bar.

"Sure thing, boss! One Magic Trip comin' right up."

The bar is busy for a Tuesday night. He should've scheduled Kim or Killik- they're always good at suckering tips out of anyone. One would think they were trained in Bisexual Flirting Magic, but Kim is a plain old fire Witch and Killik is a Hymilaian Shaman. They _have_ to know some tricky things to make every customer fall in love with them, though.

The night is busy until about midnight and as they're closing Marie sidles in to speak with the owner.

"Long time no see, Solomon." Marie winks and hugs the white haired warlock.

"C'mon Marie, I haven't gone by that name in years." He tries to hide his blush.

"Fine, _Soul_. I've missed you! Have any time for an old bat like me?"

"All the time in the world for you, Marie."

They stay up until the break of dawn, she tells him about leaving Maka and the DWMA but hopefully moving onto brighter and better things.

"It's about time you get out of there, I don't like you working with those kinds of people. You deserve a lovely place with kind people, Marie."

"I really appreciate that, but Maka doesn't have a bad bone in her body, Soul. She really _cares. _Did you know that her mother was a Witch?"

"That seems like some bullshit PR move so she can get away with throwing 'bad' Witches in cells to rot." Soul combs his hair with his fingers.

"Can you just," Marie raises her voice, "listen to me for once? Not everyone is out to exterminate Witches!"

"Marie have you seen what the world is like today? Do you know how many of my people are being imprisoned and brutally murdered for just being _associated_ with the wrong clans?" His fist meets the bar, "It's fucked up! It's racist, it's disgusting! And it's the DWMA's fault."

Marie shakes her head, her eyes welling, she can't figure out what to say to this boy she watched grow into a man, someone she took care of since he was 15 and on the run. She wants to explain so many things, that Maka will need help from warlocks like him in the future, that he doesn't have to blame the world for the choices his parents made.

"Soul, you're an adult, I can't tell you what to think or do. I just want you to know that you're worrying me, I don't think your heart is in the right place with this. I know that you made the bar for," she sighs, "for young maevens like you were when your parents did- when your parents kicked you out. I view you as a son, I want you to lead a happy and healthy life."

"I didn't ask to be deserted by them and brought in by you, Marie. I'm sorry you can't see that the DWMA is doing terrible things to people like me." Soul growls.

He's angry because she's not listening but, even more so, remembering that his parents wanted nothing to do with him after he expressed he wanted to learn more about his heritage.

He says, "I don't expect a human like you to understand."

Her face scares him, the hurt in her eyes reminds him of being vulnerable and crying into her arms.

He says, "I think you should go."

She breathes in, says "I love you." and leaves.

* * *

Maka is on edge in the DWMA for a while before anything actually bad starts happening. She just feels _off_ when she goes over Arbiter journals because there are large gaps in her history where even her brain can't recall. She is frustrated and speaks with Black Star about her worries.

"Maks, people aren't out to get us anymore. Take a load off for once, nerd." 'Star would pinch her to try to set her at ease.

She listens to him at first, especially when Tsu and Kid join in on helping her feel better, but then they get the news that things are getting worse.

Prisoners go missing in the middle of rotations and volatile herbs and reagents are in less and less supply for seemingly no reason, and that's just inside the DWMA. Around the world whole tribes of cryptids are going missing and humans are dying at alarming rates. Maka grits her teeth and listens to her friends, on edge constantly like a frightened animal. She's told time and time again that it's okay, it will be fine, they have the best of the best on these cases and she can just take a load off. She doesn't have to carry the whole world on her shoulders.

She fears that, one day, her worst fears will come to light.

On a Wednesday in February, while she tends to flowers in the greenhouse she keeps on the roof of her apartment building, her fears are realized. She gets a phone call in the late morning from Marie.

"Run." Marie's voice is rough, hoarse. "I'll be okay, tell Stein to find me in our place." She says through sobs. The smile that had appeared on Maka's face when she'd seen who was calling dies instantly. "Go to the Black Room right now, ask for Soul and tell him I sent you."

"Marie, I don't understand what's happening." Maka feels the same fear she did when her mother coughed up blood in front of her, the same hopelessness she felt in Baba Yaga's tree. She, more than anything, wished she could be wrong about something just this once.

"They've taken over the DWMA, it's not safe for you anymore." Marie sounds like she's running now; she's breathing heavily. The seconds stretch on as Maka tries to process what Marie said. The other woman coughs; a ragged, wet noise. "And Maka... I love you." Then only the deafening sound of silence.

As Maka enters from her garden, the east side of her apartment opens up in a bloom of magic and it's loud, it's so damn loud. Ten or more cloaked figures rush in. For a moment Maka doesn't move. Her instincts keep her still, assessing the situation in front of her and pushing Marie's words to the back of her mind. They try to subdue her, using battle magic in bursts like bombs. They probably know she will regenerate in time, so they'll try to destroy her body. That's okay, she thinks, the pain won't matter, but she has to save Marie from whatever doom is approaching her, whatever made her voice waver so horribly.

Maka darts to her bedroom where she keeps her mother's scythe, neatly placed on the wall above her bed because she hasn't needed to use it much since the DWMA was created. She can hear her kitchen be demolished by the chaos and she hopes that her plants are safe.

She's rusty. She hasn't had to fight in decades because Witches and evil things want to live for the most part and don't usually cross her. Her body heaves the scythe to slice through the anonymous men and women who so desperately want her dead. She weeps as she fights in a fit of frustration. Part of her desperately wants to be dead, too. Looks like no one is going to leave her apartment happy today.

She takes bullets to the chest and polearms skewer her and pin her to the wall. She's so slight and easy to move that she's getting a little embarrassed. It hurts, it always hurts, but pain is such a stark contrast to how numb she's been in the last few centuries that she welcomes this consuming reminder that she was once kind of human, that she once had a reason to live.

It suddenly brings her back to her battle with the Witch Queen. The memory is polluted and hazy with centuries upon centuries of memories piled up like dust on its surface, and when had that happened? She's been alive for too long, and every part of her is so, so tired. The weight of it all makes her heart buckle, and she carves two or three soldiers up, arms heavy with years of regret and the memory of the girl she once was, before the others scamper off and she's left in the ruins of a pseudo-home with gore painting her arms, chest, and face. When she breathes, she can hear where her lungs had been perforated in battle. It's a familiar gurgling dirge that brings back memories of wood and old, old rot. Quietly, with tears leaking from her eyes, she limps her way to The Black Room.

By the time she reaches the small tavern with so many wards it could be considered a safe house, she's openly weeping. As she stumbles in, a busty, petite blonde says, "Sorry, girly, we're closed."

"I'm-" Maka hiccups. "I need Soul, Marie sent me."

When the bartender sees the tears streaming down the Maka's face and takes in just how much _blood_ is coating the newcomer's clothes, her eyes go wide. She flicks her wrist and a small sprite travels up the siding stairs of the bar. Maka thinks that maybe it's a flare for help or a signal of emergency to whoever this Soul character is. She hears fumbling footsteps and curses before she spots a man. He's a lanky thing- hair white like the mountains from her childhood, tan skin with tiny pale nicks and cuts scarring his hands and arms.

When his eyes meet hers Maka sees something unknowable and haunted swimming in their depths. The way he moves is hypnotic and meaningful; a whirlpool in a lake.

"What happened to her?" He looks at Maka and she can't get a word out, she's not sure how to explain what just happened. It takes a beat before she realizes that he means Marie.

"She said she'd be okay, going into hiding, she said she'll find us."

Patty always knew the importance of things by how Soul talked about them, especially when it came to Marie. There was always a melancholic edge to his voice, an exposed wire that he tried desperately to cover up. But Soul hiding anything from Patty was damn near impossible. She always read him like a book and at times he very much appreciated the ease of their relationship- she was his best friend and his grumpy attitudes or depressive episodes never scared her off. She never got mad at him for things he couldn't change about himself.

When the tiny girl came into the bar, eyes rimmed red and chest heaving, and she said Marie's name with tears in her eyes, Patty was horrified. She didn't want to get Soul involved, didn't want to see him hurt. She was a deer in the headlights; she couldn't think for all the thoughts that seemed to be bouncing around in her mind. She summoned him anyway, before she could talk herself out of it, and prepared herself for the worst.

Patty can tell Soul is pissed off. First of all, that Marie called _the Last Witch Hunter_ instead of him. And secondly, that there is such little information about this dire situation. He wants all the answers at every given moment, it's one of his flaws. The girl, Maka, explains that she is actually the Last Witch Hunter, which sends a jolt of fear through Soul's heart, though he's careful not to let it show. Even Patty feels uncomfortable with the woman in front of her, small and scared as she is, because she's killed too many of their kind to count. There's something about the way the crying woman talks, even when she is hiccuping through sobs and hyperventilating - it's heartfelt, it's _honest._ Maka might just have a bad rap, Patty thinks, because how could someone so distressed and caring be evil or take advantage of lowly Witches?

Soul growls, pulling Patty out of her thoughts, and starts to lay into Maka, who's still crumpled on the floor in front of him. He yells about how she did this to Marie, she put her in danger, and does she even know what she's done, does she even care?

"I know Marie could take care of herself, but you still should have protected her, that's your _job_," he seethes before he sees how distraught she is, eyes blown wide, horrified, staring up into his.

Usually, she's filled with much more fire than this. She would scream and kick if anyone said those things to her any other day. However, today is the day her house was destroyed, the day she couldn't protect someone she loved. Today she wants to die more than she has in a long time.

So she, ever so quietly, whispers between body-wracking sobs, "You're right."

She starts to feel swallowed by her anger and fear. She starts to remember the fire on her flesh and the screams of her friends. Her body reacts to nothing, really, she sweats and cries and her lungs are convinced she's in the smoldering tree once again. She can't help but feel trapped and _scared_. Fear doesn't come easy to her, clawing its way out of the cleave in her belly and slithering through her spinal column, a trapped, desperate thing. She wishes desperately for it all to cease, for a small respite in the daunting miasma of this neverending anxiety about something that happened almost nine hundred years ago.

She can't breathe. Her knees give out from under her and her small frame clatters to the bar floor. Patty is dumbfounded- the mighty Witch hunter, a woman said to be ravenous and unforgiving, reduced to a quivering shell of a little girl, weeping on the floor. Soul goes through a similar line of thought, but with significantly more animosity and anger. His whole clan had bowed to her, had given up key parts of their heritage just to join the DWMA, and here their courageous leader is slumped on the hardwood in front of him and it's all his fault.

It takes Soul a few beats to realize that her memories and fear are swallowing her, that she's unable to process anything but a memory that's tearing into her. He knows better than to touch her; she's far too dangerous to try to physically pull out of her mind. He does the only thing he can think of and spins around to the rickety piano along the staircase. Soul remembers Marie saying that the Witch Hunter was raised in a small town in Norway, so he plays a lullaby he learned long ago from Marie.

Maka's lungs start to relax. She remembers her mother humming the tune when she would make dinner or skin a rabbit. The noise brings some semblance of calm to her bony frame. She manages to scan the room, eyes bleary and heart still pounding, and sees Soul plinking away at a song from her childhood. She nearly forgot that she was once something other than this, once was a small child with a grin on her face, throwing rocks at mean children and screaming at wolves who got too close to her village. Maka basks in the brief moment she is connected to the ghost of herself, the girl she was before the catastrophes that brought her to this cold bar floor.

"I'll get you some water, okay?" Patty whispers after Maka's gaze met hers.

Maka doesn't try to move, scared to break the calm that has washed over her. Her chest still heaves, and her hands ache as she tries to unfurl them from themselves. She starts to feel embarrassed. Two strangers had watched her turn inside out, watched her mind turn against her, two people who she knew didn't like her much because why wouldn't they? They owe her nothing, she is the face of the rules and regulations that keep them from being themselves.

She spends about a day and a half trying to figure out how to thank Soul for pulling her out of her spiraling anxiety fit. She also can't figure out how to say she's incredibly embarrassed and sorry that he even had to save her, because she knows he's not fond of her, knows that everything about the DWMA rubs him the wrong way. She stews on it for a long time, pacing back and forth in her mind between actually talking to him or just ignoring the whole situation, until he clambers in with stacks of papers and books cradled in his arms. He's surprised to see her still in the study that acts as a library.

"Oh, shit, I thought you went to sleep. This can wait until later, I'll leave you to it," he mumbles awkwardly before dumping the research onto a nearby table and making his way back to the door.

"Wait," Maka blurts before her mind can stop her. "I just want to talk."

"Okay?" He looks over his shoulder at her and scowls. "Then talk."

"I don't really _know_ why you dislike me so much, but I'm sure I could make a guess. I just want to say that I'm sorry you had to help me back there."

"Yeah, don't mention it." He shrugs and makes a move to leave again.

"Listen," Maka says, anger beginning to bubble up in her chest. "I love Marie too, okay? I want to help, so please let me. I know that I'm not your favorite person, but I _do_ know some things. And I'm definitely someone who could fight if need be."

"Of course the Witch Hunter immediately resorts to violence."

"I'm trying to make it clear that I want to help! Please quit nitpicking me, I'm on your side, you asshole!" Maka slams her hands on the table.

Maka watches as Soul's eyes glaze over from the bang her hands made, watches as his features harden. His body moves with practiced ease to a defensive stance.

He grumbles, "I get it, it's fine. I just like to figure out plans by myself."

It's easy to notice that after Maka's brief and less than menacing display of anger, Soul keeps his back to the wall at all times and doesn't let his guard down. Maka sees a younger version of herself in Soul, back when she was slowly healing from her skin being seared off and still adjusting to her immortality. But with Soul there was a certain rigidness, or fear of failing. It haunted his frame and followed him like a ghost. She knows she shouldn't pry, but she doesn't think it's a good idea _not_ get to know someone she'll be risking her life with and for in the near future.

"Why are you like that?" she asks him one afternoon.

"Pardon?" His head whips in her direction.

"Why are you so closed off and apprehensive of me?"

"I don't owe you an answer, _Witch Hunter_, why don't you mind your own business?" His glare is deadly.

"I just thought that because we're potentially staging a coup, that I should know why you don't trust me and seem to squirm when I'm in the same room as you." Maka meets his gaze with no animosity or reservations. She can see something in him catch fire when he sees her irises.

"Why wouldn't I? You imprison my kind and your DWMA fucking murdered us in droves for centuries. My parents exiled me for wanting to know my heritage because they were afraid of _you._" His voice grows louder as he talks."I don't want to waste my time on this, it's not like you care anyway."

Maka doesn't flinch. "Of course I care!" she says, outraged. "I never wanted people to _fear_ me! I wanted to protect arcane users, I want to make the world a place where everyone can live together and not be at each other's throats for no reason. How was I supposed to know your parents were assholes?"

"That's not the point, god damn it!" His fist meets the table and it takes everything in Maka to quit searching for a weapon and just listen. "Do you even understand how many Witches and warlocks gave up their ancestry to just appease the DWMA, to not get blacklisted and hunted?"

"What? Hunted?"

"Oh don't act like you don't know, whole families were murdered because they wouldn't follow your rules. You people are the real monsters. I have no idea why Marie fought alongside you."

"I don't," Maka swallows, her heart threatening to climb out of her throat, "I don't know what you're talking about. Who killed families, why did they do that? Why do you think I had any part to play in it?"

"It was you, you dumbass! Not even 30 years ago! Are you really that heartless that you forget about all the-" Soul stops when he sees Maka trembling, her eyes wide but not seeing, hands grabbing her face.

"This can't be happening, They told me Witches were dying because of turf wars, they said nothing about culling them because they wouldn't behave. They said they would _protect_ everyone while I took time off- I don't," She looks up at him, desperate, "Please tell me everything you know about this."

He goes on, saying that every report he heard from survivors said that _she_ was the one doing the killing, slinging a great scythe and laughing as she took the lives of his kin. It starts to make sense when Soul tells her dates and locations. She always wondered why they would send her on long recon missions that left her unable to contact headquarters and ended in her finding nothing of importance. It happened four times in the late 80's. She just thought it was for good measure. Now she's not so convinced.

They talk more and realize entire years of her memory have been suppressed or erased and she's fearful that someone might have been rooting around in her mind unwelcomed. She feels sick.

Soul can see how she shakes at the thought of killing innocent people, the idea of her own life being taken from her, but is still put on edge by the tiny blonde girl. Because, thin and brittle looking as she is, he feels the power and capability of breaking every bone in his body flowing off of her. He keeps his distance through the night as they unravel just how far the corruption of the DWMA goes.

For all her power and obsession with justice, she feels helpless and Soul feels it too. He's sorry, of course, because even though he never really liked her, he still didn't want to cause her pain. So he tries to make her feel a little more at home where he can, like asking how many blankets she usually likes on her bed so he can get her bed ready for her, or asking her if there are any people she'd like him to contact that she knows she can trust.

He likes to think he helps her a little.

His efforts don't go unnoticed by Maka either, she sees him extending an olive branch and thinks that maybe he's not the stuck up, Witch-elitist that she pinned him as when they first met. She doesn't have the heart to tell him she won't be in the bed very much, as she hasn't slept in well over two centuries thanks to her immortality.

"I really don't like sleeping," she says absentmindedly as they comb through documents trying to find the root of all evil that dwells within the only organization that protects cryptid kind. "I wonder how many other people feel that way, especially arcane users."

Soul laughs. "I think it's more of an anxious thing than anything else. But I don't like it either. Always get nightmares." He gauges her response to see if she's offended, but she just offers a nod.

"I don't dream anymore," she sighs. He knows she doesn't mean to make it seem as sad as it sounds, but his heart hurts a little for her nonetheless. An eternal being that has no escape from her trials and tribulations. Poor thing. He shakes his head because, despite the scant amount of time they've spent together, he already knows that if she found out someone pitied her, she'd punch them in the nose.

"Ah!" A smile splits her tired face. "I think I found out who Stein is. I met him in the field back when the Cold War was winding down." She points at a newspaper clipping glued down in one of the Arbiter journals. It takes a minute for Soul to see that it's Marie's handwriting neatly curving around a picture of a gaunt man with glasses.

"He looks fuckin' creepy," Soul says, ignoring the ache in his heart after thinking of Marie being in pain.

"He kind of is, I won't lie. He's good at what he does, though. Have you ever heard of a Moosleute?"

Soul shakes his head but remembers Marie talking about it at one point or another, gushing about how she met the perfect man.

"It's a pretty rare Moss creature that can heal, but they can also be pretty vindictive and awful if you wrong them. Usually, they originate from Germany, so you can imagine what kind of people they are."

"I sure can." Soul rubs his face in his hands.


	4. Chapter 4

_**CHAPTER 4**_

She feels like she's a bomb about to go off, or maybe a cocked gun (god she hates guns)- something dangerous and on the edge of releasing all the chaos built inside it. Her fingers shake as she calls Tsubaki.

"Nakatsukasa Dried Goods, how may I help you?"

"Tsubaki?" Maka tries her best not to let her voice waver but to no avail. She knows her friend hears the worry in her throat.

"Maka, is that you?"

"It is. I was wondering how much vacation time you have. I could use a friend right now." Maka laughs uncomfortably. She's not used to asking for help.

"I've heard terrible things- I know you didn't do those things, for the record; they've been trying to convince everyone it's all your fault, the murders and jail-breaks," Tsubaki sighs. " Also, I'd like to remind you that it's my damn shop and that I can do as I please. Plus I've got a pretty good staff here that can run things for as long as needed. Are you safe? How has everything been going?"

"I'm safe right now, yes. It's been," Maka pauses. "Difficult. I'm still in Death City- staying with a friend of Marie's for the time being. I need a few things if you're really willing to come."

"Of course! What do you need?"

"The ingredients for an Azmodius charm. We think someone has been using arcane tricks to keep me subdued or forgetful. We want to get to the bottom of it." Maka sighs. She doesn't want to make Tsu worry, but she can't really help it at this point.

"Oh, God, Maka." Tsubaki muffles a gasp." Azmodeus charms are rough on the mind and body, though. I'm worried about you. What if you get swallowed up in the memories?"

"I'll have you there! I'm not worried, I know you'll pull me out if things get hairy."

"Maka, I-" Tsu paused to get her voice back and nerve gathered. " I can't cast that spell. I don't have the power. I'm just a cryptid who dabbles in the arcane, not an actual Maeven or Witch."

"Oh." It takes a beat for Maka to stop the panic bruising her lungs, to wrap her mind around someone she doesn't trust rooting around in her mind for answers. "It's okay, then, I'll find someone. Just be sure to bring the supplies, please. We're at the Black Room, under the northern Saint Bryan bridge."

"I'll be there in a day or so, please stay safe."

"Tsu? Will you pick up Kid and 'Star on your way? I don't think I can do this without them either."

"Yes, of course, you'll catch us up when we get there, right?"

"I'll fill you in the minute you walk through the door." Maka breathes a sigh of long-awaited relief. "Take care, Tsubaki."

"You too, Maka." The phone clicks and Maka stays to listen to the dial tone for a good minute before Soul peaks his head into her room and asks her if she got ahold of who she needed to.

"Yeah, I've got bad news, though." She scrubs her face, trying to come up with some alternative.

"Lay it on me, boss." Soul's already started agitatedly combing through his hair with his fingers.

"Tsu said she can get the materials for the Azmodious but can't perform it."

"Well, that's an easy fix. I've cast that spell too many times to count, so I can do it no problem." He realizes then just what he offered without thinking twice about it. "I-I mean, if you're into that or whatever."

"We don't have much choice- I'm worried that it'll be too much information for you to process though."

"I've definitely dealt with some memories older than you, I ain't afraid of yours." He chuckles. "No offense."

"None taken." She smiles. " I haven't done this in over 600 years. I'll admit I'm a bit nervous about having a stranger in my head."

"Well, make me a not-stranger then," he says, and then blushes a little at the inelegance of his phrasing. " I mean, get to know me a bit more and it'll be less uncomfortable."

Maka smiles, put at ease that she has so many people prepared to help her in this hell she's trying to navigate. There's a thinly veiled unhappiness about her for all the happiness she feels. Her friends are in danger and her name has been tarnished by this mole at the DWMA. She feels like she's letting everyone down over and over again.

"You know, I think it's pretty impressive you haven't just given up and ran away into the woods with all this going on." He leans on the doorway into her room and gazes at her with crossed arms. "I think we're all really lucky to have you protecting us."

She smiles, genuinely this time, for the first time since he's met her. "I've got too many people depending on me to give up right now. I appreciate all the help you have given me, just for the record."

He blushes. "You deserve a break."

Maka laughs outright, because she feels like she's doing less than many others she's known in her life. She feels like she's playing catch up to make up for all the confusion and trouble she's caused, especially recently. But knowing that someone, most of all Soul- who usually dislikes her for very valid reasons- sees that she's working hard and trying her absolute best is very endearing and satisfying.

"Thank you for saying that." She rises from her seat. "Maybe I'll take a nice bath before the others get here tomorrow."

It takes a lot of self control for Soul not to start an extensive train of thought centered around the idea of Maka in The Bath™ with the added thought of Maka Naked™, even though she's like, totally not a sexual object in the slightest. He's gotta get out of the bar more often if he actually starts to think his arch nemesis is _cute._

The next day, Patty finds a way to get into contact with Stein. He's pretty far underground but she manages to get a message about him meeting Marie in '_their place_', whatever the hell that means. Soul shuffles through the study to try to find who could be the one framing Maka and cornering Marie because he doesn't play the waiting game well, but he can't find anything except scribbled notes that seem suspicious in Maka's newest arbiter journals.

They don't say anything that is explicitly alarming, just mentions of when Maka sleeps or who has keys to what prison wings. Something about how Crona tilts their hand while they write just sets Soul on edge. When he decides to show Maka, he can see she's visibly rattled. Maybe it's because she trusted them and they had been creepily watching her, or maybe just the thought of it shocks her. But either way she refuses to talk about it. She's stuck in her head until their visitors arrive.

It takes a day and a half for Maka's friends to arrive and two days to hear back from Stein. The friends are spirited and pissed that Maka is being framed. Tsubaki and Kid take to Soul pretty fast but, Black Star is on edge- probably because he's worried more than anything else. Stein says Marie is safe and she plans to meet up with them soon.

Everything is moving so _fast_ and it makes Maka, who usually has years to make decisions, very skittish. She has to find out more about her mind and her past, she has to get more answers.

They start to prepare her for the charm after they all sit down and eat together, Patty and Black Star keeping the mood of the night as light as possible. Maka retires to her room to think while Tsu and Soul gather the necessary goods for the tour of her trauma.

Maka is not afraid of living through The Battle of Baba Yaga again, or so she tells herself. Every time she sleeps she's reminded of the smells and the fear that brewed within her that night. She tells herself she isn't scared so Soul rooting around in the memory of it all with her isn't as terrifying. She's not nervous about him seeing her weep in the corner after seeing the ghost of her mother's memory, not terrified of what he'll think of her cut open and bleeding all over the place. It's like him seeing her naked, but a lot more compromising.

He brings the basin of hot water and herbs into her room, a pile of washcloths stuffed into his back pocket. He doesn't talk, just hums a song while he sets everything up with Tsubaki, who lights candles and draws sigils on rice paper. It feels like some fucked up wedding day with how they are doting on her.

She sits on her bed, waiting for the inevitable unraveling of herself. She tries to take deep breaths but the closer the spell is to ready, the smaller her lungs seem to get. How foolish, to have such a bodily reaction to something that happened so long ago. At least she's alive, right?

Alive enough to live through the agony of it time and time again.

Tsu sees her clam up from the corner of her eye and sends Soul to get more beetle ambrosia from Kid. The taller woman kneels in front of Maka, hands placed gently on her knees.

"We don't have to do this, Maka, if you're uncomfortable you just say the word," she says.

"I'll-" Maka breathes deep once more, "I think I have to do this, the memories of the past can't be trusted anymore. I just want the truth."

"And you're sure right now is the best time?" Tsubaki's eyes meet Maka's with a wave of worry.

"Yes."

Soul hears this from his spot on the wall in the hallway, waiting patiently for a less awkward time to come back with the scarab shavings. Part of him doesn't really care how Maka feels about it all. After all the information they get can only benefit them and Marie, but she looks so frail on the edge of the bed, rocking back and forth. He knows she's trying her best, he just wishes there was more to be done than being elbows deep in this poor girl's trauma.

"You can come in, Soul." Maka calls.

He's startled, sure, but more so pissed off that she knew he was lurking in the shadows. He strides in, sets the shavings on the dresser, and rolls up his sleeves.

"Ready to get this bullshit over with?"

His wolfish grin gives her the grit to smile back. "Let's do it."

It's strange how _intimate _the spell is, her head in his lap, his fingers knotted in her hair. He places petals on her collarbones after she drinks a bittersweet purple drink he brought to her. Tsubaki excuses herself as the two get situated, promising to wait in the hallway and keep an ear out.

"So tell me a little bit so I know what I'm looking for." he places coins on her eyes.

"You won't be able to miss it.I know it'll be easy to find."

He hums the song he played for her when they met, it's only a little slower and a lot more melancholic this time. She slips into a realm between sleep and peace with Soul in tow.

She notices key parts of her fears as they pass through the dreamscape. There's bulging eyes and gnashing teeth and she can feel Soul's wavelength get sporadic and uncomfortable with all the images of gore as they wiggle their way into the walls of Baba Yaga.

"This is spooky as hell, Maka"

"You're telling me." She sighs.

They walk through and she acts as a fucked up tour guide. _Over here is where my dead mother was used to keep me occupied while that plague bitch killed my friends._

"Oh, shit, Maka, I'm so sorry. That's a cheap trick."

She thinks it's sweet that he thinks she needs apologies this late in the game but she also hates that he views her as someone who needs to be coddled. She just wants to get this over with.

* * *

The group waits and waits because that's all they can do. They wait for good and bad news alike, wait to see Marie's face again. They get a call two days in that Marie suffered from Creeping Rot- a curse that the plague Witch used on many when she was still alive. It's something that turns flesh to soup and makes organs fester until the cursed one dies a horrible, agonizing death.

Maka feels her heart catch fire in her chest. Her scar, where the Witch had split her open, aches and she feels helpless for the millionth time in her sad, insignificant life. Another loved one she could not save.

Soul tears holes in his lips and chews on his fingernails until he growls, "We can get a cure from the DWMA stocks. Stein can only do so much, right? We have to help somehow."

Without thinking, Maka agrees. They make a shitty plan that entails walking in the front door. But they're desperate and they all know Marie doesn't have a lot of time. Kid explicitly states that it's a terrible idea, it won't end the way they want, but they're all just so fucking _angry_ that it doesn't matter. Nothing matters if they let someone else die.

So, the day of the infiltration, Kid stays behind because he doesn't want men and women he's work beside for years to be killed by his hand. He's a death eater, after all, and his only power is ripping souls from creatures life has kindled. Kid tries many times to talk sense into everyone, to explain that if Marie is coming home then she's in stable condition but nothing keeps them grounded; they're feral and hungry for revenge. Even if it pains him to watch his friends shuffle out of the bar door, he steels himself for what's to come.

They sneak in the church above the DWMA but it's clear that their original plan isn't going to work; There are far more armed guards than Maka was betting on. She's got a bad feeling in her gut and a worse taste in her mouth. Everything turns to hell as soon as she blinks- How did Soul get across the room? Where the hell is Black Star when you need him? Did someone leak that they were going to break in today?

It's surprising how fast the church turns into a bloodbath.

She's trained for eight hundred years and still manages to wind up on her ass; someone hit Maka good on the left side of her face, she holds it as it swells and watches her friends across the room.

Soul fights, his magic blistering his palms, and yells for Patty who has her teeth buried in some pastor's neck. They're getting backed into a corner, they're getting separated, this is not looking very good. Maka thinks, for a brief moment, that she needs to give herself up and get her friend the fuck out of dodge.

Black Star weaves in and out of the clergy of missionaries, slicing hamstrings and batting down their attacks with ease. Tsu has a trusty blade and tries her best to keep up but she's getting sliced to shit before she takes enemies down. Maka makes eye contact with her friend as she mouths "Get up."

Maka starts to lift herself off the pavement. Then she spots Crona, somehow more gaunt and grave looking than ever. She's fearful of what they'll do. Her fear is justified when they make their way to Soul, sword in hand, keeping Maka's gaze intently. Crona wouldn't- right? They couldn't hurt anyone, not actually. Sure, they might be bad but that doesn't mean they're evil, blood makes them squeamish.

At least, that's what Maka thought before the blade slices a neat line across Soul's chest. It blooms, the essence of him spilling in sheets on the concrete, he's choking on his own blood. The gurgle that escapes him is so not cool.

Maka's voice is uncontrollable and hoarse; she's screaming but she doesn't know if there are actual words escaping her. Every part of her body is moving without being told to, she's darting past priests and nuns to get to Soul, to try to pinch his bisected chest back together, to say sorry for getting him into this. When she's elbows deep in Soul's blood, Crona is an afterthought, but still very much present. They stand above Maka and Soul, laughing at her sniveling.

Seeing Crona's crooked grin is unsettling in more ways than one; especially because as their mouth morphs into the maw of teeth and black blood, they say "I wonder what your mother will say when I tell her this."

The way they move, all abrupt and choppy, reminds her of the hell she witnessed with the Plague, in Baba Yaga. When people were infected, after their souls had left for the other side, they clicked and crawled their way to her, much like Crona is now.

Then her mind forgets the sight of her once friends' horrifying movements and actually _hears_ what they had said.

"My." Her grip on Soul loosens. "My mother?"

Crona gives her a mad grin and raises a sword that looks like it actually could kill her. In a haze she sees blue hair and jorts- a blessing in disguise.

"Lock that shit _down,_ sister. We've got assholes to kill." Black Star spits blood at Maka's feet as he blocks Crona's blade. Her mind stops careening towards the thought of her mother being alive after all this time when she hears his flesh rip and give way to fur.

Tsubaki's song brings her to a level head again as the twenty some odd clergy men and women stop dead in their tracks.

"That will hold them for a very short time, we need to run." Tsu says, voice hoarse and arm bleeding. "Maka can you use your magic to cauterize Soul's wound?"

Maka nods, shaking as she pinches his veins and arteries and melts them together. Is she doing this right? Will it be her fault if he dies? Is her mother really alive?

"Put him on my back and let's get the fuck out of here." 'Star says, eyeing the entranced enemies.

They run. They run as fast as they can away from the church above the DWMA and retreat to the general direction of the Black Room.

Kid is the first to say something once they get Soul in a stable condition and to Maka's surprise, it's venomous.

"I told you it would be a disaster, Maka." His voice is so deep and threatening that Maka bristles. "I can't believe you were so careless, you may be indestructible but these people have _lives_!"

She's taken aback, Soul's blood dried on her hands. He really thinks she isn't aware of what was at stake. She wants to yell, wants to pound her fists and pull her hair, she's just _so damn frustrated_. But, she thinks, maybe Kid has a point, maybe she was too careless about the other's lives, about Soul's life.

"Get out of my sight," Kid growls, and Maka does what he says.

She's holed up in the study, under the table, because she feels safe in the place where her and Soul first became friends. Safe from what, though? Safe from feeling like a failure, from feeling guilty, from herself? She led everyone to a situation that she didn't plan, she was reckless. She was supposed to be a leader, but now she's just flailing for anything to grab a hold of.

She lifts her shirt and stares at the only scar that actually took. Her body has been killed time and time again but she has nothing to show for it. She wishes, not for the first time, that the Witch would've just let her die that day.

She fought like hell to make the DWMA, to keep the peace and save lives, and for what? Now she's an enemy of the state, she has her friends' blood up her elbows and under her fingernails, she's useless. And how many times has she thought that in the past century? She's losing it; her mind wasn't made to stay alive for this long. She's falling apart in more ways than one.

She just wants Marie there to help her get a hold of herself again, if only for a moment.


	5. Chapter 5

_**CHAPTER 5**_

"_When love is watching, someone dies. So, who's gonna watch you die?"_

Soul is healing and the scab along his chest oozes carnage and plasma whenever he moves. He says he doesn't blame Maka but she knows everyone else does.

Marie comes back like she promised, but she's missing a few parts. Her eye is patched, her hand gone, and her face looks aged. She tells them- about how they got her and they poured a curse into her eye socket, how they let her try to claw it out with her hands but it was too late, how she fought like hell to get out but she did it for them, she needed to see their faces again.

Marie cries bloated tears and smiles, Soul curses and kisses her temples, and Maka's heart sinks to her belly. Marie and Soul are scarred and stronger for it, something Maka never could do.

Somehow this feels worse than when she was actually gutted.

It takes Maka a long time to bring herself to look at Marie in the eye. Her face is getting back to the smoothness she remembers, the gentle wrinkles around her eyes from smiling too much, but it's just slightly different. She has this tangled mess of a mulberry scar down the side of her face and along her neck, a constant reminder that Maka didn't do good enough. She's back, Maka thinks, but at what cost.

She doesn't know who to talk to about anything, no one is really her safety since the battle in the church. Tsu and 'Star are busy doing god knows what, Patty hates that she caused Soul so much pain, Marie and Stein are kissing and going through old arbiter journals, and Kid is still angry with her.

Not to mention Soul; who just wants to make her feel less guilty and in turn makes her feel like a really grade-a asshat. He's too nice to her, she's the reason he has that terrible scar defacing his chest. She doesn't think him any less attractive but, gods, she can't handle the thought that she might be to blame for ruining future romances.

Soul is bed-bound but Marie walks the halls and can sit at the dining table and Maka has such a hard time speaking to her. She's a ghost that haunts and heals and it's driving the Witch hunter insane. Marie's eye must have been so painful to lose, how could she even be around Maka at this point? Her arm is flayed to hell too, thin lines going up to her shoulder and thickening down to her wrist where there is now a stump.

It shocks Maka that the woman can still smile, still laugh and hug and exude so much love and hopefulness. Her body must have been decimated, torn apart, her eye was literally plucked out of her damn face and somehow her soul isn't filled with anger, despair, and hatred.

She's just light.

Maka thinks that Soul blames her, so she keeps to herself the days leading up to the siege of the DWMA. Everyone continues their duties, but they don't need her to get information to Marie or Stein, they don't really need her at all. She's just brawn in the grand scheme of things. They could potentially just kill her and get away with forgoing this whole battle because she's the catalyst, the last part of the Witch Queen that's actually alive and keeping her anchored to this world.

She remembers how angry Soul was when she offered this, but Maka is a natural-born Martyr, she can't help it. He said that she deserved to have a life that was truly hers and she's been getting kind of attached to that idea. Maybe it won't be so hard to actually live when she's not lugging an age-old curse around in her heart.

A girl can hope.

While Maka is letting herself be chewed up by her thoughts, listening to Soul's piano echo through the bar turned _home, _Marie sneaks into her room.

"Hey chickadee," The taller woman clears her throat, "We need to talk."

"About?" It's still hard for Maka to look because when she does it's flashes of gore and carnage and Marie in so much pain that she can't stand it.

"How you refuse to talk or look at me." Marie sits beside her on her bed.

"I'm sorry, really."

"Do you think I'm ugly?"

"What?! No!" Maka turns to her then and sees in Marie's eye that this was a trick to force her eyes to her, a smart woman she is.

"See, not so bad, huh?"

Maka waits a beat, "No." her eyes trace the things she remembers, the arch of her eyebrows, the gold of her eye, the smell of her shampoo, things that are very human and very loud in her mind.

"There's nothing for you to feel bad about, sweetie, I'm here and I'm okay. You lost parts of yourself to save the ones you love. Do you want them to feel guilty every time they see that scar on your belly?" Marie watches Maka's face for the slightest change- she sees when what she said actually clicks for Maka.

"No, I'd feel terrible if they felt bad about it." She smiles slightly, "Thank you, Marie."

"I've always been kind of good at getting your head back in the game." She winks or maybe blinks, and it makes Maka do a little giggle she hasn't been able to let loose in ages.

This feels right, even for all the wrong going on in their lives. Marie's curly hair and her bubbly laugh fill the parts of Maka's heart that she didn't know she lost. She realizes something; that no matter the outcome in the next few days, after they pull the Gorgon sisters together with twine and branches, after they tear Maka's eternal life force out and force it back to lock The Witch in the roots of the world tree again, that she'd love to see her friends smile again, even if it's just once.

Yeah, she's going to make them smile if it's the last thing she does.

_I was a knife in a gun fight and I fought so madly, You were a wolf in the daylight and you almost had me. _

Maka breathes in the dusty air of the Church, the midnight moon laughing through stained glass, leaking between pews. There's a peaceful and eerie silence that's very unlike the last time she remembers, when Soul was bleeding out on the marble floors.

She sighs and walks the halls she used to so freely. She remembers the rooms where she met her friends, where she lost arbiters. For a long time, the DWMA was the only place she felt at home. As she recalls her life lived here, when she thought she was _protecting_, she feels a pitiful anger bloom inside her. He pride is wounded and her heart is broken.

Her plan was to give herself to Crona, take them down with her. It might not last long, whatever kind of peace that follows her death, but it will be enough time for another to take her place as the Last Witch Hunter, the last hope in the darkness. As she gets farther into the facility, she feels less and less willing to just give up. Voices swarm in her mind; Marie telling her to just _live_, Black Star telling her to fight, her mother begging her to be brave, Soul saying that she deserves a life that she chooses. She doesn't want to let them down but they're out of options and she'll be damned if she has to stand by and watch another friend of hers flayed open right before her eyes.

Crona emerges from the shadows, gaunt and shaking, refusing to meet her eyes. _What, are they ashamed? _

"I'm here to protect my friends." She thinks of Ox and the anger she felt when he wouldn't look at her.

"Well that won't be possible." There's a snicker, farther in the shadows. _She knows that voice._

Once more, Maka smells the plague Witch before she sees her. A miasma of bog, carcass, and mold. It's hard to make out the Witch's face in the dark, she's mostly the same but the 800 years have not made her any prettier. Her hair lays in ropes and roots against her back and her eyes glow gold-yellow. Her face oozes decay and Maka wants to plant her fist between her eyes all over again.

"How have you been, little runt? Terrible, I hope."

Maka bristles, her hair on end. She thinks of the night in the tree, her intestines laid out in front of her. Was she really stupid enough to think that the Witch had actually _died_ that day? What had Maka even fought for? Her mind is spinning out, where's Blackstar when she needs him to snap her out of it?

Crona inches towards her, eyes scared and darting around the room. She's a cornered animal _again_. She tries to make a move but is stopped by a sharp finger nail to her throat, tilting her chin up.

"Ah, there's that spirit. Just a reminder, when I cut you, it sticks. So no funny business, princess." The Witch's nail pokes right thought the skin of Maka's chin as she's lead to the next room.

She isn't scared of dying, so why is she listening to this rotting demon of her past? Perhaps she wasn't prepared enough. If she were to follow her plan she could lead the world into war, she could be the reasons her friends die. If she plays this wrong she'll put them all at risk.

"What do you want from me?" Maka says, the movement causing blood to trickle down her neck.

"I want to see this pretty little family reunion, your mother is waiting." The Witch's face splits with a smile and the smell nearly makes Maka vomit, "Also I want my immortality back."

"You're very much alive right now, I don't think you ever lost it."

"I haven't died because you haven't either, thank you so much for that by the way, but it's time for you to retire, my dear Maka. Watching you from the shadows has been quite _boring_, I think the only exciting toy has been that Soul character, maybe I'll make him my pet next." The Witch continues leading them both farther into the depths of the DWMA.

"Don't you dare hurt him." Maka feels tears gather in her eyes.

"I have to hand it to you, little runt, this is one amazing organization you set up here. Getting the death eaters to stand alongside you? Quite the feat." They stop in front of a cell, "Just a shame you weren't quite _strong _enough." The Witch releases her and she feels so, so weak.

"It seems to me the one who wasn't strong was you, Witch." Maka spits at her feet.

The plague Witch laughs outright, "What you did in Baba Yaga was a _fluke_, and I underestimated what you could do and I assure you, it will not happen again. I already drained most of your energy from that little cut there."

Maka makes a move to swipe her legs from under her, a cheap kick because that's all she's got at this point. It's desperate and dangerous, Maka can tell by how fast the Witch dodges and counters. Her chin hits the concrete, her teeth crunch.

"It's such a shame just how weak you've become." The Witch rolls Maka over onto her back with her foot and kicks her side, "You could never protect those worthless creatures, those weak witches."

Maka goes to speak and is kicked in the jaw, she feels something shatter and she knows that the pain will stay this time, there's no healing.

"You're pathetic, you're not even trying!" The Witch's face splits again with laughter, "Disgusting little half-breed."

The Last Witch Hunter gets her teeth kicked in, her face slashed, her ribs shattered by the monster of her nightmares and can do nothing to stop it. Her vision gets blurry and there's so much blood on the pavement. She sees feet shuffle into view and she knows who they belong to.

"Stop, none of that is true." Crona chokes out, their voice slight and raspy, "Maka has done so much for everyone on earth. She- She's so strong."

The Witch forgets about slowly and painfully beating Maka to death to address her underling.

"You're treading dangerous waters, Crona. You're lucky that you did so well infiltrating this place or I would've struck you down for speaking out of turn."

This gives Maka a brief moment to stand up, but her lungs gurgle once more and her eyes won't cooperate. She sees the Witch turn back to her as if through a fog, she sees Crona's blade slash at the Witch's back with a bit more clarity. Maka can't scream for Crona to stop fast enough. In aslow a painful, frame by frame unraveling, she watches her arbiter, turned enemy, turned ally impaled through their chest. They hang, feet swaying slightly, the black blood they were infected with spilling out of their mouth.

Crona whispers for Maka to _Run._

She does, she runs faster than she ever remembers running. Her mother and father had screamed the same thing to her in her dreams, after the first time she died. God, is she tired of running, tired of being gutted by her guilt, of seeing her friends hurt and _killed_. She trips her way down corridors, her ears burn and ring with the cackles of the Plague Witch stalking her in the shadows.

She misses Soul, how he'd be her reason when her mind was in chaos, she knows he would have a plan if he was here with her. _What would Soul do?_

She stops in her tracks, breath evenly.

"I'm done playing this game." Maka says, voice haunting.

There's cackling surrounding her and she's not afraid, not really. She's going to face this _thing_ head on.

"Little runt," The Plague Witch sing-songs, "I love when you surprise me. Come now, I'll bring you to your mother."

Maka knows better than to think it's anything more than a trick, just like back in Baba Yaga. They walk and the Witch Hunter steals herself for some fucked up reveal of her not-mother once more. This time, it's much worse.

The _thing _in the cell has her mother's hair, blonde like hers, tied over her shoulder. But her face leaks death and her eyes are sunken and festering. She's dead, like Maka left her in that grave, but she's also undead because the Witch has a sick sense of humor. Maka's mother undulates towards her daughter, arms crooked and mangled, nails peeling from the quick.

"She missed you so much, why don't you give your mother a hug?" The Witch cackles once more, grabbing Maka's arm to keep her rooted.

More than petrified, Maka stands planted as her mother inches towards her. She feels the Witch slither down her arm to hold her hand, locking fingers with slimy excitement.

"I can't wait to take you apart bit by bit, should I start with your ear? Maybe your fingers? But maybe I should get rid of your tongue first." The Witch carves designs into her palm as she whispers to the shorter girl.

"Do what you will."

In a swift movement, The Witch slides her nail to Maka's pinky and jabs it clear through to the other side; tearing the remaining flesh from her hand. Maka bellows and tries to fall to the floor but her dead mother leans into her, gnashing her teeth onto Maka's shoulder. "You're so kind for giving me permission."

There's a howl in the distance and the Mother-corpse and Witch flip in the direction of the noise. Her dead Mother is slashed, head separated from body. When she searches for the murderer, she sees Soul wielding her scythe. Maka knows in her heart that this is the last hurrah, the Hail Mary of her life to save her friends. She does the only logical thing she can think of.

As she watches her friends sprint down the hallway, blasting battle magic and baring teeth, she digs her own fingers into the scar on her belly that never quite healed up right. She digs around, enduring the fiery pain that builds and threatens to boil her, until she feels it; the seed of The Plague Witch's immortality and, by proxy, her own. It's rooted to her spine and it takes her breath away as she rips it loose. The Witch turns and tries to wrangle it from Maka but Black Star rakes her back with his hind legs as Maka slips the seed into her mouth, her own blood dripping from her lips.

She bites down with the little strength she has left, it bursts in her mouth, she looks Soul in the eyes and _smiles. _

The Witch howls and falls to a heap on the floor next to Maka, heaving. Soul isn't sure what Maka did but he _knows how it ends. _The tears leave his eyes before he knows his feet are moving, everyone is awe struck, frozen.

"No. No, Maka, you can't go that easy." He sobs and tries to press her organs back into the hole that she made.

"Nothing easy about it," she whispers, "You came."

"Of course I did, couldn't let you get all the glory." He sobs as he pets her hair and strokes her face.

For all the tears that drop onto her face, he's still smiling. She thinks she finally _won. _No longer a cornered animal or a frail girl. She couldn't change her fate, but she got the opportunity to rise to meet it. She crushed destiny between her teeth and it felt _really _fucking good. Call it a second wind, call it the Death Eaters bestowing her a parting gift, but she feels enough energy course through her veins to finish off the Witch who's still heaving on the ground next to her.

It's not much, but the power her mother had gifted her at birth swells between her finger tips, her pinky oozes blood that sizzles in the open flame blooming from her palms. Maka grabs the Witch's face and whispers the only words she could muster.

"Iron and Fire."

There's squelching and horrid, ear piercing screeches from the maw of the face she cradles in her hands. She gives it her all, every last ounce of life force she can channel into her magic, her mother's magic. She keeps going until the screaming stops and it smells like burnt sewage in the halls of the DWMA.

Maka has always been brave. In the face of death, in the light of the day, hiding under tables and in between bookcases.

She looks up at Soul, then at Marie, Black Star, Tsubaki, even Kid. They aren't smiling yet, but she can see relief settle onto their faces. She supposes it will take them a while to genuinely smile.

_Guess she can't die yet, then. _


End file.
